The Beginning of the End
by Fourth Lumbar Down
Summary: "The Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allen Poe. The thousands injuries of Fortunato I had borne started with one - Lady Isobel.


I cannot recall the first time I met Isobel - perhaps she was always there, because for all that I remember, there's not a day when she has not entered my thoughts. For all my life, her dainty and fragile presence has followed me. The Count's youngest daughter, educated and graceful and kind. It had been my unrealistic hope that one day I could take her as my wife. Me, the son of a merchant. The idea itself was scandalous, but I was young and in love, and love makes everything better.

"You? Marry my daughter? Don't be absurd, boy, I'd no sooner marry the two then cut off my own arm," it was, perhaps, the beginning of the end for Isobel and myself. For all that she was educated, graceful, and kind, Isobel was obedient above all else. And I was known throughout as an infamous rebel - or as infamous as a son of a merchant can be.

Isobel was suspiciously absent after that, although my willful youth would not allow me to see it. We were in love, and her father's initial refusal would not matter. His mind would change with persistence and tenacity, for surely his daughter's happiness would sway him.

It took many longs months in which I came to her window, only to be ignored. Many months in which I pleaded with her friends, begged for them to carry along my message. "Please, Lady Ventura, tell my love Isobel that I still try for her love," I had asked, my dignity gone in the face of foiled love.

"There is to be a masquerade tonight, and I've been told Lady Isobel will be there," she had murmured softly to me, a kind smile on her face, "Perhaps you will be, as well?"

I had taken my leave swiftly after that, grateful to the Lady who had helped reunite me with my love. A masquerade was the perfect event to meet with my dear Isobel - for while her face would be covered, I knew every way in which her graceful body could move, and a single mask could not deter me. My heart had soared and my mind had blurred with euphoria - my dear, perfect Isobel, I would see tonight after agonizing months of separation. If I spent longer on my appearance that evening than I would have normally, it was understandable.

The dance was in full swing when I arrived, bodies twirling and laughter echoing around the high vaulted ceilings. The appearance of one man, alone, would have been noticeable at a party such as this, filled with gallant couples and wealthy men never short of a woman on their arms. But when the music was festive, and the alcohol flowing, I would easily be overlooked. And so I sidled in, slinking around the outskirts of the painted dancefloor, doing my fair best to avoid any ladies who had lost their date upon arrival. "No, my dear, forgive me, but I am looking for another," I would tell them, graciously backing out of a dance or drink, oblivious to their petulant glares hidden behind decorated porcelain.

I had circled the dancefloor more times than I could count, and had yet to see Isobel. My mind clouded upon me, whispering doubts that perhaps Lady Ventura had spoken false about Isobel's attendance. The party was more than half way over, the time reaching into the early morning hours, and the dancers were staggering and tripping far more than they were twirling, and my hope had dwindled. It was then that I turned, my posture slouched with defeat when I caught sight of a flowing emerald gown with dark red trimming twirling around the dancefloor.

While I had spent my night dancing around the dancefloor, the woman I had searched for had danced. There was no doubt it was Isobel, with her tiny shoulders and her curling mane of hair. She was breathtaking, as usual, but the effect was dampened by her place in another man's arms. He was older, his hair having started to grey at the temples and his clothing wide at the waist. A moment of dread filled me, the gnawing thought that perhaps Isobel had not loved me as much as I had her?

But that thought was shoved aside, discarded by youthful hope and the appearance of my dear Isobel's father, his prominent mustache creeping out from under his half mask. "That is Fortunato, and his future lady," the man told me promptly, "A handsome couple, wouldn't you say? I set it up myself, I want only the best for my daughter," it was unknown to me whether he knew my identity or not.

"I had hoped to wait a few years, let her choose herself, but an merchant's son - some uncouth boy, I know not his name - had designs upon marrying her, and that I could not allow," he continued, answering my curiosity and stirring my anger.

"But should she not marry for love?" I demanded, brash and loud; the very uncouth boy he had accused me of being, "Should not her happiness be more important?"

And yet he only laughed, shaking his head, "No matter, now, 'tis her engagement party. Drink!" he shouted, staggering away from me, unknowing of the agony of my heart.

My pride kept me away, kept me hidden away in my home, violent and heart broken and drunk off wine. It was wine, that brought us back together, Isobel and I, although 'together' was not the best of term. I was perusing, hoping for something cheap, or strong - both, if possible.

Personal hygiene had abandoned me, and my hair was a lank, greasy mane. My face was covered in a weeks worth of beard, and my clothes wrinkled and stained. I was still drunk of sorrow and wine when I bumped into him.

Fortunato.

"Ah, my dear friend, forgive me! I had not seen you there," he proclaimed, clapping a hand against my shoulder like we were long lost brothers. His grin was tipsy and his eyes bloodshot, no doubt we made quite a pair. "Come, meet my wife, Lady Isobel. Lady Fortunato! Ah, that sounds wonderful, doesn't it, dear," he crowed, waving a magnanimous hand at my dear, lost beloved.

"Lady Fortunato, this is, uh -"

"Montresor," I offered, hoping my name would bring forth some sort of reaction. Indeed, she reacted, but not as I had wished. She drew back, pressing her painted lips to her husband's cheek.

"A pleasure, I'm sure," she greeted, her beautiful eyes downcast from me, "But I see a vendor that way," she nodded past me, "And it seems to sell jewelry, I will leave you gentlemen to talk," she gave a shallow courtesy, darting around me with the grace I knew she possessed. My heart broke as she walked away from me.

"Ah, women! What to do with them, eh? Tell me, Montresor, my dear friend, have you a lady?"

"I had one," I replied crisply, a fire burning in my belly. Yes, I had Lady Isobel, until she was so cruelly ripped from my grasp; by this man, no less.

It was yet unknown, but this was the beginning of the end for Fortunato,.

_Nemo me impune lacessit._

No one attacks me without impunity.

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AN: Just a little narrative I had to do as an assignment for school, and I figured I'd upload it. Tell me what you think, or don't. Whatevs. Its just a nice stretch of the imagination to write something outside od the usual fandoms.


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